a study on the existence as a yielding

“Brutal to love, more brutal to die. And brutal beyond the reaches of justice to die of love.”

“We, the stumbling prophets screaming ourselves raw, wondering if Atlas will ever take the world from our shoulders. We, the impossible. We, the unyielding. We, the unrelenting heretics burning alive for truths the old world will never be ready to hear. We, the nuclear. We, the radioactive. We, the unwilling angels choking on the innocence shoved down our throats, ripping these unforgiving linens to shreds. We, the celestial. We, the hungry. We, the courageous damned kissing revolution in the moonlight, crushing fate between our teeth. We, the unholy. We, the light.”

“Where can I find an unyielding soul of myriad wounds like my own,”

ELEKTRA: Do I not live? Badly, I know, but I live.

“Destroy, destroy. […] Destroy Oedipus, the illusion of the ego, the puppet of the superego, guilt, the law, castration.” ― Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus, Capitalism and Schizophrenia

Νικησα, ηττήθηκα, τούτο μονάχα ξέρω: ειμαι γεματος πληγες και είμαι όρθιος. I’ve won, I’ve been defeated, the only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.

Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.